So I'm Giving In

The kiss came unexpectedly, a little peck at first. Her face moved to mine so deftly that it was upon mine long before I formed a conscious reaction. I was stunned, her little mouth pecking at me so sweetly; I couldn't decide why – that was my first reaction: why.

"Please," she whispered, a gentle coo.

I moved back a little, my breath caught, and my nerves tight. I swallowed hard. I couldn't decide what she wanted, so I just sat there, my head cocked slightly back, staring at her. Her cheeks were bright, filled with hormones, no doubt. She moved to stroke my face with her rosebud lips once more. I froze, tense with guilt and want. Her petite lips inflamed the skin they touched, sending soaring signals to my nethers. My own lips sat agape, unprotesting, but worried. I squeezed my eyes shut, panic overtaking me.

"Don’t leave me here," she said, still making her way down my neck. I swallowed hard, my adam's apple clicking in my throat; my mouth felt like I'd just smoked a bowl. The pasties were intense. Obviously products of my heightened sense of urgency. I wanted to give in, let this girl lead me in to temptation. At the same time, there was Natalie; Natalie, my fiancé. Natalie, the girl waiting at home for me. Dear sweet doting Natalie. How I adore thee. Let me count the ways…

Alicia, the girl sitting so intently in my lap, was a friend from work. We'd been making hairy eyeballs at each other for months now. For me, it was just sort of me "looking at the menu", you know – look, but no touch. Apparently it became more. We work at Subway, a sandwich joint. My name is Kyle Matthews; I'm on the verge of being 24, and I just can't make up my mind as to what the fuck I want in life. Do I want a comfy life as a husband, or do I want to give in to desire, and fuck a girl I barely know? Who's 19, might I add…

She works on my shirt, releasing buttons. I don't stop her, my fascination getting in the way. This feels intense, and I don't want this rare high to dissipate.

Don't leave me here, she said. We're at a park, close to work. We'd gone for a walk, and sat down under a set of stairs. I'm her ride home. I keep hoping that she doesn't utter something cliché like "I want you", or "Take me now". She moves out of my lap.

"I'm not giving up," Natalie may say. "We can work this out." Or, will she tell me it's over, and move on to someone else? She's a comedian-of-sorts, so she may end up using me as the punchline to her act later. After he said he loved me, he fucked some little tramp; I thought most guys were in to the idea of a housewife who could make them giggle like schoolboys during sex, she might have said. No good. I can't even think out a joke for her to tell about me. But then, jokes aren't my forte.

Apparently, cheating ­is.

The shirt comes off, a whisper of fabric that separates us from the inevitable to follow. Her mouth moves to my nipples. I've never experienced that before. It tickled, but kind of felt good at the same time. I want to chuckle, but it seems misplaced here. My lying hands reach out for her, unzipping her jacket almost tenderly. Shyly, I slip it off her shoulders, she aids me by peeling the rest off, and dumping it somewhere out of reach. My hand stops on her shoulder, my conscience flaring up a little. She takes my hand in both of hers, and places it on her breast. The monster in my pants does a little mash – the Monster Mash – convincing me without a doubt that I will do this. I will go over the deep end. I will commit to un-commit. The breast is smooth, the heartbeat under it flickering wildly.

Her little mouth comes up, darting at my chin and nose: playful. I smile fleetingly, feeling flushed and dazed. The heady rush of an ill-conceived act overwhelms me a little. Off comes her shirt, a little less sensually. Now we're getting serious. Soon there will be no going back. The island of no return. Ah, what will work be like after this..?

Her intentions seem artistically hidden, behind her heavily-lidded eyes. Does she see a future in this? Her breath on my skin arouses me more. I look up at the graffiti, distracted by my carnal whims, I barely notice Natalie + Kyle scribbled in scrawled marker. We sit there like that for a minute, stunned by the teeming chemicals surging through the two of us. She sits in front of me, leaned over to touch me as she does. Her hands sneak absently to my pants, knocking us both out of our horny reverie.

"Do you—"

"Yes, I do," I say, thinking she means, "Do you wanna?"

"Put it on," she says, a cry embedded in her minute voice. Oh, she means a condom? Well, yes – have one in my wallet.

I fumble for my wallet, my hands clumsy with frenetic certainty.

Footsteps ambush us; a flashlight is thrust under the stairs to pin us with accusation. "Hey, now, kids – not in the park."

I recognize the voice. It's Natalie's dad.

Aw, shit.